


the advent archives

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkwardness, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Mistletoe, Platonic Kissing, Season/Series 01, Shippy Gen, Team Feels, Timeline What Timeline, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: “Is it that time already?”“December 1st.”Jon frowned.“Isit?”[Christmas at the archives, set during s1]
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 53
Kudos: 433





	1. Chapter 1

When Martin got to work, Rosie was already putting up the tree in the lobby.

“Oh, Merry Christmas, Martin,” she said, bright-eyed teasing because it was only December 1st, but that was okay. There was a lone strand of tinsel stuck in her hair, and Martin watched with… _uncertainty_ as she went back to tackling the uneven– artificial– branches.

He liked Christmas. He really, _really_ did. It had just gotten harder, the past few years? Even back when he was a kid, really. After dad had left… and mom had gone to Devon… he’d gone to every Institute holiday party the past few years, but other than that… still, he did like Christmas. He _did._

He’d just forgotten the holiday season descended here on the 1st, that was all.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, and felt the excitement trickle in. Brief, but there. He shoved his phone back in his coat and stepped closer to the tree. “Did you want help?”

“Oh, no!” Rosie chirped. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.”

“Sure?”

“Course!”

“I’ve found the rest of the garland, Rosie, if you could– oh, good morning, Martin.” Elias greeted him with a nod, holding carefully onto a large box overfilled with Christmas garland. There were fairy lights draped about his neck. Martin might have stared. “Alright there?” Elias continued, and hefted the box up to the reception desk.

“Yes, I–” Martin shook himself, trying to get back to the present. Trying not to look at Elias like… like he had honestly expected the man to _never_ be apart of decorating, let alone be caught dead with _fairy lights_ hanging from him for lack of anywhere else to put them. “Morning.” It didn’t help that he still barely knew Elias; he’d met him three, maybe four times since he’d started working here, which was saying something. He just… always seemed to be in his office, and the rest of them were usually busy. “I forgot the decorations went up today,” he admitted, and Elias smiled.

“A brief window of time to get them up and ready,” he said, and glanced past Martin at the tree, and Rosie. “You’re handling the tree alright?”

“Of course, Mr Bouchard.”

“I’ll have David bring up the box of ornaments,” Elias continued. “The tree is the priority for the lobby, for now. I’m taking the lights to Sonya and Diana for the library, and then we’ll work on finding the rest for here.”

“Sure thing!”

Martin… he didn’t know. Was Elias _always_ so involved, and he’d never noticed? Maybe he only showed himself to Rosie, and the archival staff. _Like Mothman._ But that was stupid. He shook his head, and tentatively asked the question again, “did you need, uh, need help with anything?”

“No, thank you. And, that asides, I _think_ Tim’s already gotten started in the archives.”

“Oh…?”

“He seemed to have an ungodly amount of mistletoe, actually.”

“Oh.” Martin fidgeted, trying not to think about how _that_ could go wrong (or right) in so many ways. “Okay, um, I guess I’ll just–”

“Oh God,” came a tiny breath from behind him, and Martin’s heart slammed against his rib cage and then straight up into his mouth. 

“Good morning, Jon,” Elias said, and Martin instinctively stepped out of the doorway and looked around at Jon. Who looked… predictably grouchy, in the way Martin was used to (the way that intimidated him) and a little bit… uncomfortable, nose pulled up as he looked at the misshapen tree going up.

“Morning,” he tried, hopeful.

Jon’s eyes still only landed on him for a second before his attention dragged to the boxes sitting on the desk. “Morning.” Then, to Elias, “is it that time already?”

“December 1st.”

Jon frowned. _“Is_ it?”

“Seems to come quicker every year,” Rosie supplied. “Doesn’t it?”

“Too soon,” Jon murmured, and then louder, “I’m going down. _Please_ tell me–”

“Tim’s already begun.”

“Oh _no.”_

Elias _smiled,_ so put-upon that it made Martin want to laugh in nervous embarrassment. “Have a _good_ morning, Jon.”

“Right,” Jon muttered, and stalked for the lift.

“I’m–” Martin pointed after him. “Gonna go, too. Er, have a good day, both of you.”

“You too!”

“Be seeing you, Martin.”

Leaving them to hurry into the lift after Jon before it could close, and then glancing at him from the corner of his eye, Martin tried to gauge the situation. So he still looked _grumpy,_ even moreso than usual, which was even more intimidating than usual– but God, they were in the lift together. Alone.

“Don’t like Christmas, then?” he blurted, and winced when Jon looked up at him, startled. “I just– I’ve never seen you at the holiday parties here, either…”

“Oh.” Jon shrugged, a little. “Parties, not really my thing.”

That was cut and dry. Martin fidgeted with the keychain on his bag, and then pushed ahead. “So, just parties?”

Again, Jon looked _surprised_ Martin was still talking to him. “What?”

“You just don’t like the parties or– or all of it? Christmas.”

“Christmas is… fine,” Jon said carefully, like saying the words would bite him in the arse later. “I suppose. Overcommercialized to the point of annoyance, but… fine.”

“Oh! Okay. Good. I mean,” he added, “it’s fine if you don’t, of course, just–” He didn’t really know where he was taking this conversation, and Jon was already heading out the doors as they opened.

He very nearly walked into Tim’s broad chest, who was standing on his tiptoes immediately outside the lift, fiddling with something– and then, noticing Jon, “oh, _hi_ boss!”

“Tim–”

 _“Look,”_ Tim said excitedly, grabbing Jon’s arm, and looking up to whatever he’d had– mistletoe, Martin knew before he’d even _looked–_ although actually seeing Tim and Jon standing under the sprig of greenery did _weird_ things to his stomach. Butterflies and embarrassment and jealousy, sort of, even as Tim looked back at Jon and Jon looked back at Tim and they… went straight to an impasse, staring each other down. “It’s _mistletoe,_ Jon.”

“You put it there,” Jon managed to eke out.

“No, I’m pretty sure it hung itself!”

“I’m not liable to believe our _statements,_ Tim, so why do you think I’ll believe _that?”_

“Becaaaause… _I_ said so?” Tim grinned, incorrigible. Really. Martin wished he had his confidence sometimes.

Not that it mattered much now. Jon pointedly tugged his arm away, and pushed past without another word.

“Aww!” Tim looked at Martin. “Martin?”

Nope, he _definitely_ didn’t have that confidence. He literally took a step back, vaguely terrified, clutching his bag to his chest. Not that he didn’t… _like_ Tim, not that he would really mind a quick kiss because he was nice and gorgeous and fun, but not _now,_ not like this– not with Jon around– it made him feel like he was betraying his crush on him or something– 

Tim just _laughed,_ and then gestured him out of the lift. _“Fine,_ I get it. You guys get a pass today,” he said, over his shoulder. Martin took the opportunity to hurry past him. “But not after today! The King of Christmas demands kisses~”

Martin, still feeling red in the face, headed to make a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

  
  


“Nog?”

Martin stared at the mug Tim was offering, a little… disbelieving that Tim was _really_ offering him eggnog but also just… _eggnog?_ “Isn’t it a little _early_ for eggnog?”

“It’s already the _10th,_ Martin.” Tim urged the mug into Martin’s hand. “And it’s never too early for eggnog, don’t pretend.”

Oh, he was going to drink it. It wasn’t as if he _minded,_ really, even he _was_ partial to tea around here. He just wasn't used to other people offering _him_ drinks here. He took the mug, and shifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I didn’t say I didn't want it.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Really, it was… _easy_ to get into the Christmas spirit, here. It had been different, up top, when they were only research. No one _cared_ when you were only research. Down here, they were… sort of friends. Definitely friends? It had been a few months, and Jon still generally looked at him like he was, well, sort of annoying, but they _talked,_ and he and Tim and Sasha went out, and they had curry at work sometimes, even. They were a little collected group down here. The group of misfits no one else wanted, Martin had always thought wryly.

 _Anyway,_ not to be self-deprecating. It had been a whole ten days of… Christmas cheer. Elias had taken it upon himself to have all the public spaces well-decorated (all delegated to other members of the staff, of course) and Tim and Sasha had claimed the archives as their own personal stomping ground. Martin had… even decorated his desk. Felt a bit silly, but Tim had clapped him on the back and took a selfie with him and it had… _kind of_ reminded Martin why he had used to love Christmas? As a kid?

So, past that, he’d gone out and bought the ugliest Christmas sweater he could find in preparation of the holiday party later this month, Christmas music was playing from _somewhere_ constantly, and they’d pretty much had ten days of dodging the mistletoe or Tim-with-a-mistletoe throughout the archives. He’d tried to corner Jon on the way to the loo, unsuccessfully, and Martin in the break room, also unsuccessfully; Sasha, at least, kept finding the most ridiculous ways to peck friendly little kisses to Tim’s cheek or hand when he managed to catch her. If Tim looked a little down in the mouth that Jon or Martin wouldn’t kiss him, well… he pretended to fuss, but he never actually pushed because he was Tim and really nice about boundaries.

And, anyway, Martin had decided he _was_ going to kiss him, eventually, because he wanted to and he had to pluck up the courage. And the longer he waited, the more it would surprise Tim, too.

He also wanted to kiss Jon, but that seemed more and more unlikely as December went on. But Martin couldn’t be much put out… it was just the same as usual, really, so it wasn’t like he was losing out on anything. His daydreams kept him occupied.

With a tiny sigh– wistful, maybe, still longing– he took a drink of the nog, and very nearly spit it across the room.

“Oh, shi–” It was dripping down his lips. He scrubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, and glared weakly. _“Tim,_ this has booze!”

“Oh, _yes,_ it does!”

“This has a– oh my God, a _LOT_ of booze!”

 _“Yes,_ it does!”

“We can’t drink on the job!”

“Oh, we _are,”_ Tim laughed, and leaned a bit across Martin’s desk, all conspiratorial-like. “Wait ‘til it hits Jon.”

Martin stared. “You didn’t.”

“Hey.” He held up his free hand, and the mug. “I just took him some, like I did everyone else. I’m just being a good employee. Like you with tea.”

“Difference is, I’m not _spiking my boss’s drink.”_ He sighed when Tim just laughed; he would have said he was probably already a little drunk, but, well, his enthusiasm had been off the charts the past week and a half, anyway, so he probably _wasn’t._ “You know he won’t drink it anyway. I don’t think he drinks.”

“He already has.”

_“What?”_

“He made a bit of a face,” Tim said, “like he was going to chew me out, but then he just looked a little thoughtful and said ‘thanks’ instead. Aaaand I left it at that, so if he goes back and gets more, that’s _his_ prerogative.”

God. He’d thought Jon would have just spit it out, too. Not that Martin _wasn’t_ going to drink his, it was just more the shock… but _still._ Now he had visions of a tipsy Jon in his head. _Forget it, Martin!_

“You’re _terrible,”_ he said out loud, and Tim grinned like it was a compliment. (It was.)

“I’m festive, Martin, nothing wrong with that. It’s the time of year for holiday cheer!”

Martin nearly inhaled eggnog up his nose, laughing.

  
  


December 15th was as good a day as any.

Martin caught Tim’s arm before he could talk himself out it again, and pulled him back under the mistletoe in the break room so he could kiss his cheek. And his heart pounded the entire time, which was a _pretty_ good indicator that he was never going to _ever_ be able to kiss Jon, even if he found the courage to do so. Tim was hot, conventionally so, and a _really_ good friend and not entirely out of Martin’s type range, and he was fun and happy and up for anything without judgment, so, maybe, if he wasn’t so infatuated with someone else, Martin _could_ have easily cultivated a little crush– but– but as it _was,_ he _was_ in love with one archivist, and he was wobbly from kissing _Tim’s cheek,_ who was just a _friend,_ nevermind… nevermind even thinking about kissing _Jon–_

Tim, for a moment, looked _surprised,_ which… yeah, definitely made this all worth it–

“Martin…” He caught himself quickly enough though, breaking into a smile that should have been illegal, really. “I didn’t know you had it in you!” he said. He clapped his hand to his chest. “I’m _weak,_ you actually startled me!”

Martin giggled, nervous– damn– pressed his knuckles against his mouth and tried to compose himself. “Lay it on thick.”

“Yeah, well, _definitely.”_ He leaned over before Martin could process, and kissed him back on the temple while Martin spluttered and laughed.

_“Tim–!”_

They were still struggling, a bit, Martin trying to get him to _stop_ ruffling his hair before he tousled it all to hell again, when Jon nearly walked into them in the doorway.

“Oh, _hey,_ boss!”

Martin took a step away, as the embarrassment flared back up again. Tim let him. Christ, he was glad he hadn’t walked in ten seconds earlier.

Not that it mattered much. Jon looked between them, and then at the mistletoe that had been replaced with a new sprig just a few days ago. Easy connections. He raised his eyebrows, and then carefully edged around the two of them. “Hi.”

“Break time, then? Finish up that statement?”

“Yes.” Jon turned on the kettle, and went to rinse his mug.

“Oh.” Martin fidgeted, trying to wipe his palms on his trousers. He was so _sweaty._ “I was going to make tea– sorry–”

“Needed a change of scenery, anyway,” Jon said. “And I was bringing Sasha a tech report, if she’s–”

“What about me?”

Oh, now _everyone_ was congregating in the break room. Martin kept getting hotter, even though he wasn’t even _doing_ anything now.

“Sasha!” Tim greeted. “I got Martin! Or, well, Martin got me–”

“Tim!” he complained. “Don’t… don’t _brag_ about it–”

“I _am_ bragging about it.”

“It’s just _mistletoe.”_

“Even still–”

Which was the moment that Sasha reached up for Tim’s tie, and pulled him down to kiss. As in, _kiss,_ full on the mouth. While Martin stared on in shock and secondhand embarrassment and– and– wait, they weren’t– they weren’t, like, a _thing,_ right?

No, because Tim was looking surprised as well. A quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't the only one _seeing_ this, and no– no, Jon was staring, too, vaguely startled in his own way. Vaguely… embarrassed in his own way. Maybe even blushing a bit. So Martin was _definitely_ seeing this.

He looked back at them just as Sasha stepped back, and looked so very pleased with herself.

“H– holy shit, Sash,” Tim managed. “That was– what was _that?”_

“Just wanted to see if you kissed as good as you bragged about,” she said, bright and beaming and… devious. God, she was _dangerous,_ and Martin laughed before he could stop himself.

“Well??” Tim asked. “Do I?”

“Hmm… I dunno.”

“You don’t _know?_ Sasha, come _on.”_ He slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to his side. “You know I’d be the best shag ever.”

“You’d be a shag, Timothy Stoker,” she agreed, “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Ooooh, you’re a _minx._ You’re killing my ego.”

“Tim, if you _touch_ my hair, I really _will–”_

Maybe it would have been _easier_ to fall in love with anyone else, Martin thought, watching Tim and Sasha playfully bicker. Probably, even. Definitely. He glanced over his shoulder again, to where Jon had taken to being very interested in preparing his tea. But well.

 _The heart wants what the heart wants,_ he thought, and was fond and resigned in turns.

He left Tim and Sasha in the door, and collected Jon’s preferred brand of tea from the shelf. “This one, right?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.

Jon graced him with a tiny, awkward smile, and a nod, and Martin’s heart continued to want what it wanted.

  
  


“It’s good for morale.”

“Wh– I’m just the _archivist.”_

“And perhaps the most important person in this Institute for that,” Elias said. “Honestly, it’s just the holiday party, Jon. Disadvantages of the job can be _far_ more severe, I’m sure.”

“That vaguely sounds like a threat,” Jon muttered, and then raised his voice. “Provided I attend, can I have access to the archives on Christmas, and Boxing Day? To work.”

“If… that’s really how you want to spend your Christmas.”

“It really is.”

Christ, that was… depressing. Martin wrapped his hands tighter around the mug, trying to keep it warm out of sheer force of will. It wasn’t like he was _eavesdropping–_ he wasn’t! He… he hadn't… _meant_ to… but he couldn’t very well knock on Jon’s door while he and Elias were talking, could he?

“Yes, then,” Elias agreed. “I’ll see what I can do to alter timekeeping in your favor as well.”

“Right.”

“No promises.”

“I really don’t care,” Jon sighed. “I just need… more time to get things organized. Two days I’m not doing anything, I may as well be here.”

“If you say so.”

Martin heard the footsteps a second before the door opened; he barely had time to take a step back and pretend he didn’t slosh tea over his fingers before Elias stood in the doorway, smiling faintly.

“Hello, Martin.”

“Oh, er, hi,” he murmured. Elias looking at him like that made him feel… oh, he didn’t know, like he’d gotten caught doing something _terrible._ “Just, uh, tea,” he said, gesturing vaguely with the mug. “For Jon.”

“Ah. Best not let it get cold, then. I was just talking Jon into our holiday party.”

“Oh…?” he asked. Like he hadn’t just been standing there, listening.

“I thought a bit of a break would be good for him.”

“Martin,” Jon called, gesturing him inside. Whether to hurry Elias out or hurry the tea in or hurry them _both_ the hell away so he could keep working.

“Right! Well, I’ll, um, talk to you later?”

Elias nodded, seemingly pleased, and left him to handle an irritated Jon on his own.

  
  


“Happy Christmas.”

From the way Jon was staring at the box, wrapped in modest holiday paper, it may as well have been a– a– Martin didn’t know, box of possessed crap from artefact storage. Then he looked up at Martin, eyebrows drawn in vague confusion. “I didn’t get you anything.”

It… wasn’t _funny,_ really, but Jon was so plaintive and he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “It’s fine, Jon.” He hadn’t expected anything, anyway. Hoped, yeah, maybe, but… Jon didn’t seem to properly celebrate and didn’t do social interaction well, anyway. So, he was happy just giving a present. Even if he had really just wanted to leave the box on Jon’s desk and let him open it while he wasn’t there, but he wanted an honest reaction and the only way he’d get it was by _watching Jon open it._ “I just wanted to get you a little something.”

“Ah.” Jon looked back at the box. “Um. Should I open it, then…?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just, it’s not Christmas.”

“It’s… well, no, technically, but it’s Christmas Eve? And we’re not here tomorrow–” he wasn’t here tomorrow, anyway– “so yeah, I’m giving stuff today. You can open it, if– if you want.”

“Right,” Jon said, sounding so very matter-of-fact about the thing as he methodically started unwrapping the paper that Martin thought, again, he should have just left the present on his desk and _ran._

It wasn’t even personal, not really. He was in the business of care packages more than anything else; it was the easiest way to combine a bunch of little things into one present and actually make it _useful_ for a person. He’d given one to Sasha and Tim, too. Although Jon was the only one who looked _overwhelmed_ at the amount of things situated into the box when he opened the lid.

It was just normal stuff. A couple boxes of tea, packs of crisps and biscuits and candy for Jon to snack on, seeing as how _absorbed_ he got in statements, snacks were _good_ for him. There were a couple high quality ink pens he’d picked out, in black and blue and one in red for any corrections on his case files (and they were anti-gravity, too, so that was? Really cool?) A small, plain memo pad for on-the-go notes, nondescript. Probably the biggest thing was the mug, which Jon gravitated towards first, maybe just… because of its size, its position in the box.

_Be nice to archivists. They can erase you from history._

Jon was a hard one to pin down, really. So Martin bought the rest of them _funny_ mugs, and this was funny, too, but… he just hadn’t thought Jon would really go for a mug with a proper pun or meme on it. He hadn’t _really_ wanted to reduce Jon to just his job but… he still didn’t really know him much outside of that.

Beyond that, a mug warmer, which Jon looked at with another extended look of bewilderment.

“It’s a mug warmer,” Martin said quickly. “Keeps your tea warmer longer, so, uh, if you have really long statements, or, you know, we’re too busy to make tea.”

“Oh,” Jon said, and looked at the mug and warmer for a moment longer before continuing rifling through the box. “That’s actually… useful, Martin, thank you.”

 _Oh._ “Well, there’s still more, a bit,” he said, scrubbing at the embarrassment at the back of his neck.

 _“Too_ much, considering I didn’t–”

“I don’t mind,” he interrupted quickly.

Beyond the mug, a gift card for Jon’s occasional coffee shop visit, two packets of hand warmers, fingerless gloves– because he’d never seen Jon wear gloves but maybe if he could still easily _function_ with them, he would– a travel-sized bottle of healing lotion, package of throat lozenges, and, because he was _entirely_ predictable, a rubber keychain of a stylized archival storage box that was smiling cheerfully at them.

“The, uh, gloves and stuff, just, you know, easier to work when your hands are warm and taken care of, and same with the lozenges, since you record all the time. Winter’s, well, bad,” he laughed, faintly, _still_ nervous. “But yeah. Just some stuff. If you don’t like it, or wanna use it, that’s fine! But it’s there if you do.”

“Martin,” Jon started slowly. “This is…”

“If you’re about to say it’s too much again, don’t,” Martin interrupted. Again. God, Jon was _almost_ expressing genuine human emotion. It was _cute._ “It’s just a gift, Jon. It’s Christmas, yeah? Enjoy it.”

“I… yes.” Jon nodded, once, and managed to look awkward as hell while being, _yeah,_ more genuine than Martin had ever seen him be. “Thank you. This was… thoughtful.”

He wondered if Jon’s definition of ‘thoughtful’ in the moment was good or bad. Either way, Martin _still_ chalked this up as a win. “Glad you like it,” he replied, and then nodded, to himself. “Yeah. I’ll let you get back to work, then? Maybe see you at the party tonight…?” He had his doubts, even with Elias’s special little mandate, but, well, he could hope, right?

“Oh. Um. Maybe?” 

“Right,” he said. “Merry Christmas, then, Jon.”

“Merry…” Jon cleared his throat, gently setting the box at the corner of his desk. “Merry Christmas as well, to you.”

Martin smiled– tried not to smile _too_ wide– at least not until he was outside of Jon’s office with the door firmly closed, and then allowed himself to grin, flustered and fluttering in turns. It _was_ a merry Christmas. Regardless how the evening went… he couldn’t _wait_ for the office party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the timeline's a bit janky, but we don't talk about that. I just wanted s1 christmas shenanigans where they're all still finding their footing around each other because gentle awkwardness GOOD
> 
> the holiday party will be ch2! I'm being very slow and tired and wanted to post this yesterday, so further shenanigans get relocated to another chap, enjoy this for now 👌


	2. Chapter 2

When the night went off with a bang, it was hardly a surprise. Christmas crackers aside, they always _did_ have a good staff party at the Institute and this was the first year that Martin really… had any _proper_ friends here. Okay, yeah, he got on with everyone upstairs, he was the _nice_ one, striking up conversations with anyone to pass the time but never really _connecting?_ He knew everyone’s names and they knew him, but friends? Not really.

Even him and Sasha and Tim, they’d _known_ each other before transferring to the archives, but they really hadn’t gotten close until they’d started working downstairs together.

So, the atmosphere was different, this party, and Martin laughed as Tim tried to fit the flimsy paper crown onto his hair.

“Tim, _stop.”_

“Martin, this is the _most_ extravagant hat I’ve seen from a cracker, you _have_ to wear it.”

“I will, I will, just– you’re going to tear it in two–”

“I’m _not_ going to– aha! There you go. Perfect.” Tim stepped back to admire his handiwork, framing Martin between his fingers. “You look beautiful.”

“Th…” He tried not to let that get to him. He really, really did. But Tim was naturally flirtatious, and Martin had had… _just_ a little bit much to drink already. So it was probably to no one’s surprise ever when he felt his cheeks blossom with warmth despite his best efforts to _not_ let it get to him. “Thanks,” he said, awkward, and turned away to fuss with the paper hat some more as Tim laughed, and headed off to talk to the new hire from the library.

He didn’t mind too much. It was a party, after all, and he really desperately wanted to have a good time.

He also really desperately wanted Jon to show up.

No luck, really. Not a _whole_ lot of hope, either? If he was being honest? But, that was _fine._ Jon never came to these things, anyway. And Martin was trying not to think about it. It was _Christmas,_ dammit. And this was a party. And he had _friends_ here. And he was going to have a good time. Jon or no Jon.

_Focus, Martin. Go have another drink._

He smoothed his hands down his sweater, over the cheerfully blinking LEDs woven into the fabric. Then he went to snag another drink, and catch up with Sasha as she waved at him across the office.

  
  


“Martin, it’s the end of the world.”

Something tickled, at the edge of his mind. Martin frowned. “That was supposed to be in 2012, Tim.” Although why Tim was talking about it _now,_ of all times– 

“No, not _that._ I’m talking about _that.”_ Tim pointed. Martin followed the line of his finger to the doorway without any real interest, and then…

Jon.

“Oh.” He laughed into the paper cup of proper mulled wine. The spices burst on his tongue, pleasant and tingling, like the recognition filtering into his mind. But that was a little slower, a little less intense, until… _“Oh!”_

It was definitely Jon, hesitating in already clear awkwardness as he stood at the edge of the room. Overdressed to the rest of them, still in his collared shirt and cardigan and looking so godforsakenly _uncomfortable_ that it made _Martin_ uncomfortable just by watching him, disquieted all the way down to his toes. Or maybe that was the wine. “Oh _no.”_

“‘Oh no?’” Tim repeated. “Martin, you haven’t shut up about him coming since, literally, the beginning of the month. This is your best case scenario.”

 _“No,”_ Martin hissed, clutching at Tim’s arm. “I wanted him _earlier,_ I–I–I can’t talk to my boss while I’m _drunk!”_

“We’re off the clock. He’s just _Jon_ right now. Besides.” Tim shrugged, plucking Martin’s cup from him to finish off the wine. “It’s the _office_ holiday party. We’re _meant_ to get sloshed here.”

“But…”

“You’re not drunk, anyway.” Tim waved, and Jon’s eyes snapped almost immediately to them. “Go get him, Martin, let’s teach him how the Institute does Christmas.”

“I… oh, God.” It wasn’t like he could just leave him _hovering_ there, awkward and alone. “Right. I’ll– I’ll go.”

“Good man!” 

Martin staggered when Tim clapped him on the back, and then… he went winding through the gathered crowd til he was standing in front of a Jon who looked the most relieved he had ever looked to see Martin in, like… _ever._ It was a nice look, though. A nice feeling, clearing a little of the anxiety from Jon’s face.

“I– uh, hi,” Martin breathed. For a second, he didn’t understand why Jon was _staring…_ then he noticed the flashing of his own jumper reflected back at him in Jon’s glasses, and he stammered as he hurried for the battery pack tucked into the fabric. “Sorry, er– I thought it was festive–”

“Uh, y–you don’t have to–”

“What?” He finally caught the tiny switch, and the festive flashing stopped. He looked back at Jon.

“Nothing.” Jon sighed, just a little, a breath too exasperated exhaled through his nose. His eyes took in… _everything,_ probably, and Martin fidgeted on the spot. “I… see the party’s in full swing, then.”

“Yeah. Sasha’s working on the music, a playlist, I think? And, uh, Tim’s–” Wasn’t where Martin’d left him. Damn him.

“He went to talk to, uh. Someone,” Jon supplied, and gestured vaguely. “I saw him… prowl off after them.”

“Oh.”

And this wasn’t at _all_ what Martin had expected. Not that he’d known what he’d expected at all, really, _Jon_ at a _party,_ but… Christ, it was _awkward._ Being here not as archival-assistant-and-boss but two _normal_ people at the Christmas party… what did you even _talk_ about with the boss you harbored a dumb crush on when you _weren’t_ talking about work?

“… you want a drink?” Martin blurted, and Jon jumped a little, and then thawed, just enough to look a little… sheepish, maybe?

“Probably, yes,” he agreed, and even _smiled_ a little.

“Okay! Good, just– over here, then.” 

It was funny, a bit– in a warm, alcohol-buzzed sort of way, Martin thought– the way Jon made a face at the first sip of spiked punch, but held onto the flimsy paper cup like it was a lifeline keeping him afloat here.

And Martin was too nice to let him flounder about, really. He’d _come;_ that was enough for Martin to take pity on him, even a little. “Er, so… you finish up that one about the, uhhh…”

“Supposed guardian angels?” Jon supplied. Pointedly dry, even, but there was almost _relief_ on his face in talking about _work._ Something he knew, and was used to.

“Yeah. That.”

“Yes. Well. It wasn’t angels,” Jon continued.

“Aw.” He wondered if he believed in real angels, himself. He wasn’t sure. In any case, he was _pretty_ sure Jon didn’t, so he wasn’t going to get into _that_ kind of conversation. “No Christmas miracles, huh?”

“I _suppose_ it was festive enough.” Martin perked up, and Jon rolled his eyes as he continued. “Absinthe, apparently.”

_“Absinthe?”_

“I lend very little credibility when a detail like that crops up.”

“Well, I mean, _yeah._ Isn’t that– like, _really_ bad?”

“Worse than anything else?” Jon shrugged a shoulder, staring into his punch. “It isn’t our first hallucination, and it definitely won’t be the last. But I suppose it did clear up another space in the pile for me to get on with others.”

“Guess so?” He fidgeted with the innocent lights at his jumper, and then the paper hat falling over his forehead again. Jon’s eyes tracked the movement, and Martin had to state the obvious. “Paper hat.”

“Yes.”

“From the crackers.”

“The…” Jon trailed off, a tiny furrow of concentration between his eyebrows. Martin wanted to smooth it away. He scrubbed his palms against his jumper instead. “There’s _hats_ in Christmas crackers?”

“I… well, yeah?”

“Ah. I’ve never–”

“You’ve never done a Christmas cracker??”

“No. Er, I don’t quite remember my early Christmases, and my grandmother was Jewish, so…”

 _“Oh.”_ Christ, maybe that explained another bit of Jon never coming to these things. “So, you–”

“No,” Jon said quickly. “That is, my grandmother, she– she never really tried to properly raise me under those beliefs–” He sighed, short and sharp. _“Don’t_ worry about offending me, Martin, I really couldn’t care less.”

“Right, er…” He was… oddly taken, just then, by the fact that he… really didn’t know much about Jon’s _past._ He had heard that his parents had passed, and now he supposed it made sense that he would have been raised by a grandparent, but… huh. Questions he couldn’t ask. Answers he probably didn’t want when he was a little drunk and trying to celebrate. “Did you _want_ to do a Christmas cracker?”

“I…”

“Here, hold on. I’ll grab one–”

“You– um, alright…”

Small things, but… letting Jon experience small things for the first time with _him._ And he couldn’t help but feel a little giddy over that, even if it was just something as simple as this. Especially over something as simple as this, because it was, well, _kind of_ domestic, right? _Anyway._

“Here. You just hold onto it here–”

“– and pull?” Jon supplied, flat, but was doing the almost smiling thing again when he took the end. “I did figure that much, Martin.”

“Right.” He wondered if the heat at his cheeks was embarrassment or the alcohol. He didn’t mind, either way, but he was definitely getting warm. “Well, good luck!”

“Good lu–” 

The _snap!_ came quick– cheap branded crackers, Tim had laughed– and Jon actually _dropped_ his end of the cracker from the shock, which was… _incredibly_ funny, all things considered, even though Martin felt a little bad as everybody in the near vicinity turned to look who was pulling crackers and Jon looked like he wanted to be swallowed up by the floor himself.

Christ, Jon was actually blushing, Martin rationalized, as he tried to stop laughing while scooping up the pieces of the cracker. That was so un-Jon-like that it was just… _bizarre._ And _adorable._

“I–I didn’t realize it was going to be so _loud,”_ Jon said.

“Yeah, a bit!” Martin laughed, shoving the contents of the cracker into Jon’s hands. “But, anyway, you get the stuff, you got the larger piece!”

“The–”

“Is that _Jon?”_

Martin stopped trying to peer at the contents of the cracker, impatient, and looked around at Sasha as she walked up instead. “Oh, Sash. Welcome back.”

“Yeah, cheers, but Jon, didn’t think you’d show!” She plucked at the pieces of paper, holding up a tiny figurine of a polar bear. “And you won against Martin, _nice.”_

“Oooh, you got one, too!” If he could find it– he dug around in his pocket until, oh– pulling out his own collected figure, not a polar bear, but a small arctic fox. “We match!”

“That’s a _fox,_ Martin.”

“I– I mean, I _know,”_ he said, carefully putting it back in his pocket, “but they’re both arctic animals, sooo–”

“Well then.” Jon held out the bear, sitting innocuous on his upturned palm. “I owe you a gift. Merry Christmas.” 

“No, I–” He practically physically _recoiled,_ even though he loved the little figurines and Jon was _giving him a Christmas present–_ “No, _you_ won it, I can’t take your–”

“Trust me, I don’t–”

“No,” Martin said firmly. “I mean, thank you, um, I’ll take it in spirit, but… you don’t have to get me anything, I said, and you should keep that. Your first Christmas cracker win.”

Jon just rolled his eyes, acquiescing with a little “if you say so.” He slipped it into his pocket, and Martin smiled until his face hurt. 

“And here’s your–”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“Oh, fine, _I_ will,” Sasha announced, unfolding the paper crown. “What’s your joke?”

“Er–” Jon finished pocketing the rest of the small prizes, holding up the tiny scrap of paper instead. “‘What do you get if you cross Santa Claus and–’” Eyes flicked down, and he sighed. “‘– and a duck?’” 

Martin wasn’t up for a good faith effort at guessing and Sasha shrugged. “What?”

“‘A Christmas quacker.’”

He laughed too loud before he could stop himself, and then clapped a hand to his mouth. Sasha beamed and Jon just looked mildly exasperated, really, but, _yeah,_ it was definitely the alcohol a bit but it was _funny,_ he thought. He was too happy for it not to be funny, especially when Jon _said_ it the way he did–

“Martin,” Jon complained, chastised, in that old familiar voice of doing something that Jon didn’t approve of, the _voice_ that made Martin smile nonetheless–

“Hey, Martin, you owe me one of those!” someone called, and Martin glanced off to one of the old acquaintances from research waving him over. “It’s my turn to win!”

“Ah, you–” He looked back at Sasha, and Jon. “I’ll be back? In a minute.”

“Sure.”

“Back in a minute,” he repeated, and beamed at Jon before he hurried away.

  
  


“Where’d Jon go…?”

“Where’d _you_ go?” Sasha retorted. “You said you’d be back in, like, a second. It’s been twenty minutes.”

 _“Sasha,”_ Martin interrupted hurriedly, “did he leave?” Oh Christ, he hadn’t, had he? He hoped he hadn’t. He’d just– gotten pulled into a mild debate over the legitimacy of archival work versus research, and– and– “Tell me he didn’t.”

“Serve you right, you know.” Sasha stuck out her tongue and gestured to the door. “He went to the toilet, I think.” 

Martin sagged, wringing his hands. “Sorry, sorry, I just– wait, you _think?”_ He… really wouldn’t put it past Jon to say that and sneak back off to the archives.

“Umm, it was a bit ago. I’m, you know, not gonna track his moves here, Martin.”

“No, I–” He was trying to be positive here. Jon would be back in a minute. If he wasn’t, well, he’d been here a bit and it was Martin’s fault for not dragging himself from the spirited discussion earlier. But… “… should I check on him?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“In the _loo?_ Martin,” she laughed.

“What if he’s sick??”

“What if he went back to work?”

“Well, he won’t be in the loo, then, will he??” He’d already made up his mind. He’d never forgive himself if Jon was feeling poorly and they left him alone. It was worth the risk of making a fool of himself. “I’ll be back–”

“You sure?” Sasha teased, and then winked. Martin went a full-on red as she raised her glass to him, and said, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do~”

“Sasha! I’m just– I’m not–” he spluttered, and then gave up. “I’ll be _back.”_

“Uh huh. Good _luck,_ Martin!”

 _Friends._ Why had he wanted those again?? Martin still laughed, in all his nervous embarrassment, as he doubled back out of the room and down the hall to the nearest toilet. Honestly, this was the best time he’d had in… in a long time. The best Christmas he’d had in a long time. A really long time. 

He hoped next Christmas would be like this, too. He couldn’t _wait._

“Jon…?” The door pulled open just as he was raising his hand to knock, and Martin staggered back a step. “Ah–”

“Oh–”

“Sorry,” Martin said quickly, taking a step back. “Just, Sasha said you’d been gone a bit so I wanted to… to make sure you weren’t… ill.” … okay, it still _sounded_ stupid. Logical, but stupid, and how could something be both at the same time? He… needed to get some water and kill this buzz. Which was, of course, when he noticed the sprig of mistletoe hanging above the bathroom door. _Goddamn_ Tim. “Um.”

Jon’s eyes followed his gaze, and then looked away after taking in the mistletoe, too. “Er, no, I’m– I’m fine. Hiding a bit, actually. Tim–”

“Ah.” 

“Yes,” Jon agreed.

“He’s definitely enthusiastic.”

“That’s a word,” Jon muttered.

… yep, this was awkward. Both of them hovering in the bathroom doorway, except Jon didn’t seem particularly inclined to go back to the party and Martin just wanted to be where Jon was, but… 

“You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to, Jon,” he said softly, because… well, it wasn’t worth it if Jon was miserable, right? Definitely not. “I didn’t mean to really… bail on you, but I know you probably have so much to be doing, anyway…”

“I…” Grimacing minutely, Jon stared past Martin’s shoulder. “Don’t want to, exactly. But–”

“You had an agreement with Elias,” Martin blurted, and then winced. Shit. Jon was looking at him, and Martin had to explain. “I may have… overheard that, a bit. Er. B–But, you _did_ show up, technically, so…”

Jon’s laugh was _dry,_ and… God, good. He didn’t laugh enough. “And have spent most of it loitering here. Somehow I doubt that’s good enough for Elias.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll… manage for awhile longer,” Jon continued, only slightly sheepish. “Thank you, though, Martin.”

“I–”

“A _ha!”_ Tim pointed at the both of them, and hurried down the hall. “Sasha said he left, and then _you_ left,” he complained at Martin, “and then neither of you came back. What are you two _doing,_ hmmm?”

“Having clandestine meetings in the bathroom.” Martin barely resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. Barely.

“Technically we’re _outside_ the bathroom,” Jon added.

“Having clandestine meeting _outside_ the bathroom,” Martin corrected gravely, and felt it all the way to his _toes_ when Jon huffed a laugh next to him.

“Yeah, I can see! But you knowww…” Tim looked up, pointedly. “What’s been happening while I haven’t been here?”

“Oh, for– Tim,” Jon complained, “it’s been a _month._ Don’t you ever get tired of–”

“Absolutely not. You’ll get tired of hearing me eventually and–”

Now, Martin was a little bit drunk. More than he wanted to be, with Jon there. But he didn’t think he was drunk enough to imagine the next bit– however many times it happened in his fantasies.

Jon stretched up, pecking a there-and-gone kiss to Martin’s cheek. Tim stopped talking, and Martin’s world stopped turning. Then Jon gave _the_ most dry look Tim’s way, and asked, “happy now?” flat and toneless. “I’m going back,” he continued, louder, and stepped around Martin to head back to the party.

Tim recovered first. “Y– You only did that so you didn’t have to kiss _me!”_ he accused, half yelling when Jon was already halfway down the hall.

Jon waved over his shoulder without turning back.

 _“Arse!”_ Tim called, laughter in his voice.

Martin blinked again, reaching up to touch the spot where Jon’s lips, warm and dry and chapped, had passed above his jaw. Jon had… had that…

It _must_ have. Tim was grinning from ear to ear as he spun, grabbing ahold of Martin’s shoulders. “Well _done,_ Martin!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he protested on one breath, voice high and breathless and– oh, oh _Christ,_ that had _happened,_ and he could still feel the phantom impression of Jon’s mouth against his skin–

“You got your kiss from Jon!”

_“Shhhhh!”_

“Nuh uh, no shush, how was it?? Was it all fireworks and rainbows, Martin??”

“No!” _Sort of._ “Tim! Get off me– you know it doesn’t even _mean_ anything– it’s just the mistletoe–” Still, there was no way he wasn’t feeling giddy over this. He couldn’t… he couldn’t _help_ it, despite telling Tim to lay off about it. (He was never going to be able to forget this, in multiple ways. Not that he even wanted to.)

“Soooo?” Tim was well and truly hanging off of him. “Doesn’t _really_ change anything, does it?”

“No, just––” He didn’t even know what to _say._ Clutching two fistfuls of Tim’s terrible Christmas sweater, burning hot and in a cold sweat at the same time. “Nghhhhh,” he groaned instead, leaning his forehead against Tim’s shoulder. “Christ, Tim, he actually _kissed_ me.”

“He _actually_ did.”

He actually _had,_ and Martin had just… stood there, like a _lump._ A useless lump. Hadn’t even said anything! Couldn’t say anything now, either, so just muffled another moan of sheer mortification into Tim’s shirt.

“Damn, Martin, don’t sound so _dejected.”_

“No, I’m– I’m not, I’m just–”

“Malfunctioning?”

That was about it. A tiny noise of wounded agreement.

Tim just _laughed,_ a ripple of movement and vibration beneath his chest. _“C’mon,_ Martin. Go splash your face and come back and get another drink.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah! It’s a good night! Right?”

“Yeah…” Oh, it was. And he _definitely_ needed that drink. Because Jon had kissed him. Holy shit. “Yeah…”

“What’s that? Can’t hear you.”

“Yeah!” he protested, wiggling away as Tim made for the ticklish bits at his side. “Yeah yeah, I’m going!!”

“Want me to stay?”

Martin shook his head. “No, I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t leave him to the sharks.”

“We’ll keep an eye out. But _hurry back,”_ Tim said with a wink. “Plenty more mistletoe where that came from.”

“I _know,”_ he stressed, although he was certain nothing else would come from it. And that was… that was alright. Because this was… more than he’d dreamed about, really. Beautiful in all its innocence and Martin wouldn’t trade it for the _world._

He pushed the bathroom door open, and then, thinking about it, stopped. Turned around. “Tim!”

“Yeeep?” He looked over his shoulder.

“… thanks,” Martin laughed.

Tim did, too. “Happy Christmas, Martin,” he exclaimed.

The happiest in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and Jonathan drinking-to-deliver-me-from-the-insanity-of-this-party Sims eventually starts having a row with Tim about the Greeks, and now we've come full circle! I like to imagine they got to have a little fun that year..... you know they didn't the next Christmas, all things considered
> 
> Merry Christmas (Eve), everyone! If you celebrate, cheers!! If you don't, I'm sending the biggest happy holidays and well wishes for 2020 your way anyway!! 💪 Thank yall for your support and enthusiasm, you're the reason I keep doing what I do <3


End file.
